Sole Survivor
by Technomad
Summary: The aftermath of the last fight with Voldemort


Sole Survivor

Sole Survivor

A Harry Potter fanfic by Technomad

Existence…was pain. Better not to exist. Better the blissful nothingness of nonexistence, without the pain. Without the stabbing pain in one leg, the wrenching pain in the sides every time a breath is taken, the hundred-and-one other pains throughout the body. Without the horrible taste in the mouth, and the sickening smell everywhere. But nonexistence seems not to be attainable. The eyelids…why do they not want to open?

Run the hand---_why does it seem so heavy_?--over the face, smearing away some sticky stuff and letting the eyes flicker open. Everything out of focus. Even the effort needed to wipe whatever it was out of the eyes sends whole new pains stabbing through everywhere at once. The smell---even more nauseous than before, and sounds begin filtering through; at least, the sound of dripping from somewhere, and what sounded like---wind? Yes, it was called wind.

Movement---a new extremity of pain, pain like nothing ever before experienced. What was before? Who is it that asks? A twist somewhere in the middle, and the sudden taste of vomit. Helplessly rolling to one side as horrid-tasting fluid comes bursting up, and out, through the mouth, irritating the inside of the mouth and setting off even more new pains. 

Who am I? Where am I? Why am I? Reaching back through the pain, back into the time before the pain…

"I---am Hermione. I am---Hermione!" That, at least, is fairly clear. What "Hermione" is, on the other hand, is harder to comprehend right now. Automatically, without conscious volition, rolling over onto the stomach, pushing up with the hands, and rising, shakily, first to the knees, and then, overbalancing, sitting back and looking around.

Still forms littering the surface of the earth, as far as the eye can see, under a somber Scottish sky. In the distance, the silhouette of a huge, ruined building, smoke rising reluctantly from it to join the leaden clouds. "Hog---Hogwarts?" A distant rumble of thunder.

At the sight of Hogwarts Academy in ruins, memory starts returning. As with existence, memory is pain. There are still huge gaps, but images begin flooding back. Voldemort---Voldemort had returned, with his Death Eaters behind him, and out for blood. He had thrown his forces into an attack on Hogwarts, infuriated that the Muggle relatives of witches and wizards had been granted sanctuary there. 

More and more things start coming back, and all of them horrible. Professor Dumbledore blasting down the traitorious dementors, but unable to drive them away from their hideous feasting in time. Muggles screaming as Death Eaters loosed the Cruciatus Curse on them. And…

"Mum---Dad?" Images of Mum being borne to the ground, screaming insanely, as unholy creatures tore at her flesh. Images of Dad stopping an _Avada Kedavara_ curse with his own body, with just the nimbus of the effect hitting Hermione, knocking her to the ground and unconscious. 

A howl, bigger than the whole world, more painful than anything yet, bursts from Hermione's throat and grows until it drowns out everything else she can hear. Finally, it trails off, and she kneels there, sobbing, her stomach twisting with the effort of expelling something after it's already emptied itself. Memories flooding back, including knowledge of who and what she is. "I---am Hermione Granger. Seventh-year Gryffindor---" Why was that important? No matter; it was, "prefect," whatever that was, "and I am a witch!"

Looking at the sources of the pain for the first time, to determine how bad they are. The leg doesn't look good at all---there's a very ugly burn on one whole side of it. Other than that, there are cuts and bruises everywhere, and they're easy to see, since what had been a nice set of robes and clothes has been torn into something barely suitable for a rag-bag. The sticky stuff on the face is dried blood, from a nasty cut across the forehead, now scabbing over. One whole side of the head is burned, and the hair there is mostly gone. Several fingers are protruding at new angles. Somehow, that doesn't seem important, even though the pain is sharp whenever the hand moves.

After an unguessable, uncountable time, more things begin snapping into focus. First, Dad---sprawled out near her, the mark of the Killing Curse on him, but a curious smile on his face. Nearby, Neville Longbottom---an image of him, his round face twisted into a mask of concentration, casting lightning bolts into a surprised mob of Death Eaters, superimposes itself on his small, twisted form. From the looks of him, he got the same thing his late parents got---the Cruciatus Curse, full-force. He wasn't as physically strong as his parents were, and his body gave out before his mind did. Dimly, the memory of his shrieks comes up, but it doesn't seem to be important. He's beyond the Cruciatus Curse at last.

Staggering to her feet, Hermione begins searching her surroundings. She recognizes nearly every person she sees, and images of their last huge fight begin to come more clearly into her mind. There's Professor Snape, and, of course, Ginny Weasley---an odder couple she'd never met, but utterly devoted---together in death, as in life. Images of Snape, standing firm as a rock against the assaults of the Death Eaters who saw him as a traitor, while Ginny Weasley helped him cast counterspells that tore through the enemy ranks like scythes, blot out the reality of their pitiful corpses, lying there with Snape curled around Ginny as though to protect her still. Around them are dead Death Eaters, dead hags, dead dementors, and even less easily recognized creatures.

Over there, the huge form of Hagrid, his faithful Fang at his side, surrounded by the torn corpses of Death Eaters. For a person who had been expelled from Hogwarts before graduation, he had done very well, indeed; his mighty muscles served where his spells wouldn't, and many of the Death Eaters showed signs of having been literally ripped apart. Near him, incongrously, Neville Longbottom's grandmother, her expression still fierce as her lifeless fingers grip the throat of one last Death Eater's corpse. Dobby, pathetically clutching a kitchen cleaver, lies near Mrs. Weasley, her checkered apron red with blood and her eyes staring lifelessly at nothing. Not far away, the Weasley twins---_they won't be opening that joke shop now_---lie in the middle of a huge burnt spot. A vague memory of a Lightning Bolt curse from a low-flying Death Eater on a broomstick detonating their store of magical explosives floats to the surface of Hermione's mind. It doesn't seem important; the Death Eater was caught in the explosion himself and is lying nearby, his head at an impossible angle. Two Aurors in their official robes are lying not far away.

For what seems like hours, Hermione searches, for what she knows not. She finds friends and enemies alike; Lucius Malfoy and his family, seeming to sneer at her even after being torn apart by a well-placed Tornado Curse, lying near the Crabbes and Goyles. At the sight of Draco Malfoy's face, with its supercilious expression not erased by death, Hermione spits, noting in passing that several small white things fly out of her mouth along with reddish liquid. Must have loosened some teeth, she notes in passing, but is that important? Vague memories of parents who would have thrown a fit at her casual acceptance of losing teeth float through her mind, but seem utterly unimportant next to the pain---and to finding whatever it is she's looking for. 

Gilderoy Lockhart is there, the smile that won him Witch Weekly's approval five times erased from his face forever. His features are locked in a rictus of horror; a blurry memory of Lockhart going down before a pack of dementors arises. The thought that he should have smiled at them passes, but it is of no moment. _It isn't important, is it?_ A few paces farther on, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, their friendship finally ended by death. Sirius is in human form, but a memory of him transforming into his dog-shape to leap at a startled Death Eater's throat before the Death Eater could finish Lupin crosses her mind_. At least they and James Potter are together now_… And there is Professor McGonnagal, apparently hit by a Killing Curse while Transfiguring a Death Eater into a giant slug---the half-transfigured slug, still wearing Death Eater robes, was lying half on top of her. The thought that it would have been interesting to know who the Death Eater might have been floats past, meaningless, as all thoughts are.

Not all that died on this field were British---Viktor Krum is there, lying broken on the ground with his broomstick smashed beneath him, along with other students from Durmstrang Academy. Madame Maxime, from Beauxbatons Academy, is surrounded by dead Death Eaters and other, less human creatures; it looks like she wreaked an incredible slaughter on the enemy before they overpowered her. Fleur Delacour, still covering her sister Gabrielle's body with her own to protect the younger girl, gazes at Hermione with what seems, even now, to be a reproachful expression. _I'm sorry I was so jealous of you, Fleur…_That part of the field is littered with bodies wearing Beauxbatons robes, as well as the ubiquitous dead Death Eaters. 

Finally, a well-remembered face, staring unseeingly up at the sky with glassy green eyes. Across the chest, a white-feathered owl lies, broken and smashed, blood on talons and beak. Beneath a shock of dark hair---_why could he never seem to keep it combed?_ A lightning-bolt scar, sharp features, and those awful thick-framed glasses, now broken. _No matter---he'd never need them again, would he_? Harry Potter---yes, that was his name---and, of course, nearby is another corpse, this one with red hair, what you could see of it. It all comes flooding back, and Hermione falls to her knees, cradling Harry Potter's lifeless head in her lap as though she could bring him back to life with her tears. Gentle as the mother he never got the chance to know, she traces the scar Voldemort left with her finger, the way she so often ached to do before. She shakes with sobs, heedless of the pain they cause her through her own injuries, as she mourns the two men she loved best in all the world. She had never told them, but she would have happily married both of them at once, if that had been possible. The three of them had been an unbeatable team. 

When she has no more tears to cry, she sits there, holding Harry Potter, waiting for death. It's all around her---even the harmless, helpless, funny little house-elves, she can see, were slaughtered---so why is she still alive? The other side couldn't have had any survivors, or she wouldn't be alive herself---very thorough, the Death Eaters, particularly when dealing with Muggle-borns like herself. Is she the only survivor of the whole battle?

No.

Lord Voldemort definitely survived. Somehow, she knows it. He's weak---as weak as he's been since he got his body back, three years ago---but he's out there. Not far away. She can sense him---it's like knowing where the sun is, with your eyes closed outdoors on a sunny day. But he's weak. Very, very weak. Dumbledore's last spells had weakened him horribly, and he is now as weak as she is. With this, a new calmness comes over Hermione, and she knows what she has to do.

Straightening up, heedless of the pain lancing through her body, she checks the sleeve-sheath she had had made for her wand, the summer before her fifth year at Hogwarts, in Diagon Alley. Sure enough, her wand's there, coming to her hand like a faithful old friend. Her face twists, as she snarls: "Voldemort! I'm coming for you, Voldemort. I know I don't have long, but before I go---before I join Harry, Ron, and all my friends---I'm going to take you down for good!"

Staggering, limping, picking a careful path to avoid stepping on corpses, Hermione Granger, last surviving witch of Hogwarts Academy, goes to her final duel with her head held high, her face exalted. Borne on a cloud of pain, ignoring the pain, she steps forth, her wand in her hand, to face the foe she now realizes she was born to face. Now is where it all comes due---all the years of hard study, endless hours poring over old musty books, being called a know-it-all. It was all for this, even if she didn't know it at the time.

FINIS


End file.
